Gladiator
by Nova122
Summary: In this world of magic ancient lineage means ancient power, and there is no line stronger than the Evans. Though the rich are not well known for sticking to the rules, so despite the strict rules against it the occasional child with abilities is not unusual. Take Maka Albarn for instance, whose very existence is illegal. Unless, that is, she were to join the fights.
1. Prologue

When things got dark, as was often the case these days, her lullaby still came to mind. Though her face was harder to recall every year, he could still remember every word, every note.

By the time Soul was old enough to recall such things as happy memories; she was too far gone to create many more. It was his only connection to his mother.

In this world, where magic is commonplace, truth is valued above all else. And her voice was real, truly magical. It was not the product of any spell, but rather talent, talent that attracted many a suitor, all connoisseurs of rare things.

And so it was that the lovely lady who sung like a bird was locked away.

It wasn't long before she stopped singing.

The day his mother died Soul was left alone with his father. Wes had long ago left the house, that argument was another thing he would never forget. And now all expectations were on him. And he'd hate to disappoint.

Her days were numbered.  
She could feel the power growing inside her, like a plague; feel its heat slipping underneath her skin. She couldn't open her mouth for fear of it spilling out, couldn't go outside in case they could see it emanating off of her. If any of the others found out… No one wanted to touch her anyways, knowing that she was a Halfie, if the found out she had Essence too…. If she was lucky they'd just turn her in.

Thankfully none of the others knew about this place, her little hideaway. They often wondered where she disappeared off to, but they were all street rats so it wasn't unusual to have a bolt hole or two.

Her stomach rumbled and Maka groaned rolling over.

She couldn't hide away for ever.

Sitting up she tried once more to stem the flow of Essence, but the more she concentrated on it the more she could feel its heat. The candle in the corner of the room flared and Maka stifled a yelp which quickly turned into a sob.

Everyone knew what happened to the illigitement.

Briefly Maka fingered the knife at her belt, filled with an odd sort of calm, a sad smile lighting her face. She sighed.

The Arena then. Not like it mattered, she was going to die either way.


	2. The First Fight

The Hidden city was surrounded by sand. Desert stretched for miles in all directions, blinding in the unforgiving sun. It seemed to rise straight up from the ground, its sloping walls blending with the sand at the end till it was impossible to tell where one started and the other ended. The Arena peeked just over the top of the embankment, its towers shockingly white, bleached by time, sand and sun.

The landscape and the climate, most visitors assume, are the reason for the affectionate nickname, Death City. But for the residents these things are simply a part of life. No, it is not the cruelty of nature that has earned the name, but of humans.

The games; the spectacle which all visitors must see. It's like nothing else in the world. Where else can you witness the careless shedding of human blood, the thoughtless waste of human life? Though there are many who would argue the human part.

The poor have learned to fear the games and all who attend them, but to the rich, it is simply another way to indulge themselves. A thrill like no other.

It had always disgusted Soul to see those painted men and women chatter away, unforgiving in their laughter, heartless in their smiles as death unfurled before them. Only blood could satisfy those lusty gazes, each death eliciting a roar from the crowd. What were those tiny people in the centre of the coliseum thinking when they saw those faces so far above their own?

It was impossible to see any expressions from where Soul was sitting. He wondered if that was better or worse. It certainly made it easier to pretend they were just puppets putting on an elaborate performance for the wealthy.

But puppets don't bleed.

He looked on with careful impassivity. He knew the consequences for throwing up, crying out, making any movement to call attention to himself. Everyone was watching the spectacle below, but that didn't mean they wouldn't notice his uneasiness if he let it show. He must not let it show.

Soul let his mind wander, his eyes transfixed on the competition, but he couldn't really watch it. Couldn't let himself see the world he lived in. He thought of his mom, her lullaby playing like background music to the carnage. It was oddly suitable, transforming each player into a deadly dancer. 'That's right' Soul reminded himself, 'It's all just a show, another way to escape the life of the rich and boring.' The girl below him moved with beautiful grace, blond pigtails swinging as she danced around the much bigger man in front of her, armed only with a knife

It seemed unfair to Soul, to be paired against someone who was clearly not her match, but she moved smoothly, ducking each blow and quickly closing in for a swipe at his rib cage, or a stab at his arm. The bigger man was beginning to slow; he was losing blood quickly from dozens of small cuts across his arms and chest.

Soul clenched his teeth; the girl was losing speed as well. She was clearly untrained and underfed, but she continued to fight. Soul could feel his jaw beginning to hurt, but it was hard to make himself watch without the distraction of pain. The girl was dying.

Around him he heard the mundane twaddle of bored nobles. A few called for blood, eliciting smiles from their friends. It wasn't interesting enough, the man was dying far too slowly, and the girl had not even bled yet. What fun was that?

The girl moved in for the next blow. For a second Soul's breath was taken away as he saw her blond hair catch the sunlight, perhaps it was the contrast with the macabre scene, but Soul could only see it as beautiful.

She stumbled. The man was more than desperate to gain some ground on the petite warrior, and wasted no time taking advantage of the situation, moving in for the kill. Soul gripped his chair, he hoped his face was still blank, but he couldn't be sure.

He really hated this part.

The girl twisted as the axe came down towards her head. The crowd roared around him, but he could barely hear them over his own heartbeat. The girl stretched out and arm to protect her head, turning her face away from death.

The roar of flame filled the stadium. Even Soul could feel its heat from his seat. The man stood no chance; his body was a blackened mess, charred beyond recognition. The crowd erupted into cheers, they loved a good spectacle. And though Soul stood up, he made no noise, he saw the girl collapse, falling backwards, and just before they rolled back in her head he saw her eyes. Green.

He lifted a hand to his own blood red eyes, before quickly lowering it back to his side. Essence users were rare in the game these days. Most were killed before they got here. Many thought suicide was preferable, others simply couldn't escape the hands of friends and family.

Soul could see the hungry gazes of the nobles around him. Interesting players always garnered personal attentions. Some thought this was the best way out, others knew that the wealthy were just as deadly as The Game.

That girl was in for a hell of a time when she woke up.


End file.
